


It Isn't a Trick

by lollercakes



Series: Collections [3]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Angst, Miscarriage, Other, POV Alternating, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-14
Updated: 2012-05-27
Packaged: 2017-11-05 09:43:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/405002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lollercakes/pseuds/lollercakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn't a trick - she really is pregnant. A series of ficlets based on the idea that Katniss was indeed pregnant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Deutsch available: [Es ist kein Trick](https://archiveofourown.org/works/381440) by [Schattentaenzerin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schattentaenzerin/pseuds/Schattentaenzerin)



I feel Haymitch’s arm pressing into my windpipe. I can’t help but be surprised at the speed with which he moved as we stepped off the elevator onto our floor in the Training Center.

“Is it true?” He’s not looking at me when he asks, his menacing eyes focused on Katniss as she stands a foot away, her hands on her stomach and her face barely controlled. I can hear Effie in the close distance as she rambles on in a high pitch. We’ve just had our Quarter Quell interviews.

It’s getting harder to breathe now.

My eyes flick towards Katniss who quickly nods her head. Haymitch’s arm releases me and he steps back, the blood leaving his face. I stumble against the wall and Katniss grabs my arm, steadying me as her eyes remain locked on our Mentor. He’s standing shell shocked, his eyes focused on her hand as it never leaves her belly.

“You have no idea what you’ve done.” His words hang in the air as he disappears down the hallway.

 

 

 

It hadn’t been expected, the way we’d fallen back into sleeping next to each other as our families slept down the hall. She’d found me one night after a hard training session – one that I’d imposed on the three of us – and had asked if she could stay with me.

I couldn’t turn her away. I’d promised her always.

It was like the Tour. We held close and breathed each other in, our bodies pressed together, our hands clinging. We were almost like children, terrified of what was coming for us though neither would admit it out loud.

We didn’t need to say it out loud. We both knew that one of us, both of us, would likely not be coming home.

 

 

 

It happened in the afternoon, the heat of the sun having forced us out of training and into the shelter of my home. Haymitch had returned to his, determined to hide himself away in the bottom of a bottle.

The house was quiet with my brothers at school or at the bakery with my mother and father.

And she knew it when she kissed me. We were alone and right now, right now was all we needed.

We hadn’t bothered to go far, stumbling our way to the couch in my front room and collapsing upon it. I didn’t call into question _why now_ or what was going through her head. I should have, there’s no doubt in my mind about that, but I didn’t.

With my body pressed into hers I pulled back from the frenzy. My lips peppered kisses across her forehead, her cheekbones; my lips found her earlobe and the dip where her neck and shoulder connected. Her hands found my spine and traced it upwards, under my shirt and along my skin. I pressed my hand to the center of her chest and felt her heart beat.

It beat quicker for me.

“Katniss,” I felt her breath in my hair as I nuzzled my face against her, needing to be closer. It was a flurry of movement as clothes were discarded and bodies were aligned. I’d never seen her naked before. I tried to slow it down, to take it all in, but she wouldn’t have any of it.

It was moments before I felt myself moving in her, her body tight and hot and wet and around me. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. There was pain on her face as she lowered herself further onto me. I wanted to lift her up, stop her from hurting, keep her safe. But that was instinct and I knew this had to happen.

She held tight to me then, her discomfort expressed into my shoulder as I struggled to hold on for just a little longer. I felt her muscles clench around me and I almost let go, right there.

“Katniss,” The words were strangled from my lips. She wasn’t moving anymore, the hard part over and done with she had given up. I pull her back to look into her eyes, there were tears there, rimming her lids. I knew, deep inside, that it’s not pain that’s making her cry. She’s terrified for every other reason.

I remove her from my lap and lay her on her back across the cushions. I trace my hands across her chest, settling on her sides as I lay myself over her. The moment apart has calmed me and I’m able to hold it together as I push into her again.

The angle, the mood, the feeling – it’s all different this time. We move together slowly, our hands grasping tightly as my pace increases. I slip my fingers down to where we connect and find her center. It’s pleasure that spreads on her face now, no longer tangled with fear.

When I let go, she doesn’t follow. Not until I slip out and refocus my hands on her, pulling her over the edge with me.

We lay entwined for too long, our sweat coated bodies cooled in the breeze drifting through the windows.

 

 

 

The idea of bringing a child into the world hadn’t even crossed my mind that day. How could it? I was so focused on Katniss and the Games that it wasn’t even something _real_.

Until it became real, at least.

The training we’d done in the District had slowed down, almost to a stop on account of her feeling ill. I’d written it off as nerves as we quickly approached the day of the Reaping.

I’d figured it out on the train to the Capitol as I held her hair while she expelled breakfast into the porcelain toilet.

“What do we do now?” I’d asked as she tipped the glass of water to her lips. She looked at me quizzically for a moment too long. She hadn’t recognized the signs. My heart broke for her. For us.

“What do you mean? You win and you go home. That’s the plan, isn’t it?” I lean back against the closed bathroom door and sink to the ground, my arms wrapping around my legs as I watch her carefully. My chest is tight.

“Katniss, do you have any idea what’s happening to you right now?”

“I’m being led to the slaughter, aren’t I?” There’s a deadly serious smile on her face, a blithe comment from the teachings of Haymitch.

“You’re pregnant, Katniss. You’ve been sick, skipping out on training, feeling off balance when you do show up...” My voice trails off as the look of incredulity fills her features. She’s quick to her feet and instantly I’m on the defense as she kicks at my heels and screams.

“No! I’m not! It’s not real if I don’t _want_ it to be real.” She’d known. She just hadn’t admitted it to herself. I wrap my arms around her tightly as she pounds her fists into my chest. It calms her and soon I’m holding her up as her words turn incoherent. She didn’t want this.

I didn’t want this – not now anyways.

When we lay together that night in my bed, I can’t help but rest my hand over her stomach. I want so badly for this but it isn’t right. I pull her tighter against me, crushing her close as if to mold us together.

“You’ll come home with a piece of me.” I whisper it into her hair. I know she’s asleep. It’s the only time I can admit that I want this for her. That I’ll save them both.

 

 

 

We don’t talk about it again. She refuses to tell anyone but I know people know. Portia looks at me different. Cinna can’t look me in the eye.

They know.

I start working on my plan to bring her home. I keep quiet and put my plans into motion.

I tell all of Panem first.

I’m desperate to bring her home. To save her. To save them.

It’s only when we’re back up on our Training Center floor that it all seems much more dangerous to have announced it.

But I’m grasping at straws with each new target. I can only stand in front of one bullet. I’m banking on the people of Panem to stand in front of the others.

She needs to come home. They need to come home.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finnick Odair

I didn’t sign on for this shit.

My fingers grip into the cushion of the interview chair I’m seated in as I watch Peeta Mellark make his confession to all of Panem. I try to see if it’s true from the look on Katniss’ face, to see if she’s just shocked enough for it to be fake.

I pray that it’s just another little trick they’re playing, another mention to garner more odds in their favour like Haymitch had them do last year.

If it’s not... Well, keeping her alive for one day will be hard enough with the Gamemakers. Three days? Fucking impossible.

 

 

 

After the interviews Mags and I return to our floor. She can feel the tension rolling off my shoulders as I step out and slap at the first ornate vase I see. We speak in the tongue of the past to avoid recording as she watches me rage.

“It changes nothing, Finn.” She’s insistent on this.

“I beg to differ. It changes everything. The Gamemakers will come after her with a vengeance. And our agreement? It blows up.” I’m stalking around the room. I think my fury mostly lay with Haymitch for not telling me sooner.

We could have dealt with this in the plan. Fixed it before it became a problem.

“What would you have done, had you known?” Mags’ hand is on my arm now, stilling my movements. I don’t think before I speak.

“It would have been taken care of. Haymitch has her ear; he should have had it taken care of.” I’m appalled at my own words. I’d just become everything I hate, controlling others for the advantage of myself. I step back from Mags and look off, embarrassed.

“And if it was Annie?”

I don’t need the question, I already feel bad enough. If it was my child, I would protect it with everything I had.

In that moment, I understand Peeta Mellark. He’ll make it to day three too, if I have any say.

 

 

 

It’s Haymitch who, not surprisingly, offers me the bottle as I join him, Johanna and Beetee in the District 12 lounge. We’re alone here, the recorders having gone dead with a flick of Beetee’s switch. Peeta and Katniss, I’ve been informed, have retired for the night.

I don’t blame them. They were never creators of the plan anyways.

We sit in silence for a moment before Johanna speaks up, her words startling me.

“Just another reason then?” Beetee nods, his swift fingers fiddling with his worn shirt.

“Like we need any more reasons,” Haymitch mutters under his breath as he takes another sip. I can see it eating him alive, this girl of his being thrown to the slaughter again while he can do nothing. He’d broken the rules about Tributes, the one where they tell us to never get attached.

“Did you know, Haymitch?” He looks at me then, my question surprising him.

“Of course I didn’t. Don’t blame me for this; I would have taken care of it.” He snaps. His brows furrow as he realizes what he’s just said.

“No, Haymitch you wouldn’t have. We all know it.”

“I would have had a plan, at least.” It’s a small whisper from this man. The one who’s been the driving force behind this secret revolution since the announcement of the Quell. We’ve worked together so diligently to get these plans in place and now there’s another factor – the added hatred of the Gamemakers with bloodlust for the unborn.

None of us speak after that. We’re all aware that there are no options for us other than to do what’s already planned.

Beetee is the first to leave, with a quiet goodnight. Johanna follows soon after, scoffing and reminding us that this will probably all blow up in our faces. When the room is empty I let the faux-Capitol smile fall from my lips. I’m tired of wearing it for others. Haymitch doesn’t need me to wear it.

“I’ve got this,” I say. I mean it. I will give everything to last the next three days. When Haymitch looks at me, a sadness I’ve never seen before is clouding his eyes. It makes my chest clench.

This man has been a Mentor for too long. He finally got to bring someone home and now he has to watch them play again. He’s also losing his friends, the Victor’s he’s known for years and coached and helped play this Capitol game.

He’s standing on the brink of losing everything in one fell swoop.

“How could he be so damn stupid?” His words surprise me when they come out quiet and deadly. I can’t help but defend the boy.

“He’s not stupid. He just didn’t realize the extent of his actions. That’s how we usually get here anyways.” It’s all I can offer. I don’t agree with him – Peeta is probably smarter than us all. He’s got too much to lose.

“We have to bring them both home now – do you get that?” I look at him quizzically – we planned to bring our team back, but why the sudden urgency to guarantee he gets home for sure as well? Katniss was always the main purpose of the plan. “If he doesn’t come home, she won’t either. She won’t do it without him.”

I turn the idea over in my head, looking at it from all angles. Haymitch knows this girl better than anyone, they have an unspoken line to each other, but she’s a survivor and I can’t see her losing it altogether for a boy.

“She’s strong. And she has you.”

“It’s not enough. You don’t get it. In District 12, kids rarely last the first year. They starve or they get sick. Katniss won’t face a war, let alone returning to the District if he’s not there, especially in this state. She won’t last the night, no matter which family members she has waiting at home. She’s already decided to come in here to die for him.” His words send a chill down my spine as he takes another pull on his bottle. I can see his eyes getting bleary and I know he’s going to fall over the edge into a rage soon.

I don’t want to be here for that.

“Do you need me tonight, or will you be okay?” I ask, rising up. On the rare occasion I’ve stayed with Haymitch through the night. More often than not, it happens when his Tributes die and he can’t face the darkness alone.

“No, we’ll say goodbye now.” I watch him lift unsteadily to his feet as he hands me his silver bracelet. I’m unsure of it, holding it between my two fingers. “It’s your token. It’s the only way she’ll trust you to last past the Cornucopia.”  He answers my unspoken question and then pulls me in for a hug.

I’m surprised by the ferocity in his grip until he lets go and walks away. He doesn’t turn around as he heads into his room off the hallway.

 

 

 

The Arena is hell. The tricks are torture, pain and terrible all at once. I keep him alive, if only just to keep her alive longer.

We all know how this works. At least until there’s a problem.

There’s a separation and then the plan fucks up and we’re all in different places.  

When we’re on the hovercraft heading to 13 it’s like a war zone. Haymitch was right – not bringing him back is disastrous.

We’ve also lost Johanna.

There’s too much going on. Too much chaos and terror.

Later, when I find her sedated on the table, I’m surprised at how little she actually is. I think about all that’s been given for the life of this girl. I grip her fingers tightly in mine and I can’t stop the words slipping from my lips.

“I hope you’re worth it.”


	3. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katniss Everdeen.

There’s too much blood. Far too much. I can’t account for it all but I know somewhere deep in the recesses of my mind that it’s coming from me and that it’s not a good sign.

I don’t know how much I’ve lost, but as the red tinge coats my fingers as I lift them into the light I know that whatever amount it is – I’ve lost something.

I stand from the fetal position that I’ve been curled in for the last five minutes. I won’t let this show – it’ll kill him, surely. Instead of walking towards the camp, towards safety and security, I walk farther away until I can no longer see the shadows of my alliance flickering in the water’s reflection.

I keep walking, my feet carrying me farther and farther from the beach where we’ve been stationed. When I hear them calling out for me, clearly searching, I don’t turn around.

I’ve figured out the clock, the rotation of the schedule and the way that the wave of blood will soon cascade down the trees. I know it’s a harmless torture, one meant to throw the Victor’s mentally off balance and nothing more. I head towards it determined to coat myself in something other than my body’s own fluid.

I arrive just in time as the wave crashes down. I stand on the edge, feeling it coat my feet before I move forward into it. It’s disgusting and vile and the most terrible thing I’ve ever done but it nearly cleanses the pain in my abdomen as it disguises my failing body.

I couldn’t carry this child within me. Even if I’d wanted to, which I’d only admitted once.

I remember that night as clear as day as the red liquid sweeps me out into the water. Peeta and I had been laying in the dark of my Training Centre room, determined to last the night in each other’s arms before facing this intolerable arena. He’d told all of Panem my secret and I’d almost killed him for it.

Well, in my head I might have almost done it. In the real world I’d collapsed onto the floor and acted like a child until Haymitch had taken me upstairs. Peeta had joined me soon after, stripping from his Capitol attire with ease and then joining me in my bed in silence. He’d curled his body up behind mine, pressing into me as his hand landed upon my belly.

I’d wanted nothing more than to run from him at that moment. To hide and escape or maybe jump off the edge of the roof.

Instead I’d stayed, relaxing my form into his and letting the frustrated tears coat my cheeks. He’d whispered into my ear every thought that passed through his mind. How he’d done it all to save me. To save us.

When I rushed to protest, he’d insisted that one life was a fair payment for two. I’d never thought about it that way before – that he was giving up his life for not only me but for his _child_. That was the only moment where’d I’d wanted this being in my body.

I feel myself drifting out deeper into the water, the red wave disappearing into the dilution of the salt. I know my face is coated in it, looking like a demon risen from the hellfire, but I don’t care. It bears the truth of what I can’t say – that my body wasn’t strong enough to keep Peeta’s most precious thing safe.

I hear the voices of my alliance growing louder and I know it’s almost time to face them. I hope they won’t notice, that they won’t plague me with questions if they suspect. Spare them at least this knowledge before their deaths – or better, take me and let them live.

“Katniss!” I feel the arms meet me then, lifting my torso from the water and forcing my head against a chest. The way the body moves in the water is clearly telling of Finnick’s swimming power – there’s no way the rest of them could pull me ashore as fast.

I’m still dazed when we arrive on steady ground, our bodies still immersed in the water. I hear heaving lungs and heavy feet splashing around me and I finally open my eyes to see a pair of faces looking down at me.

“I’m sorry, I was checking the clock.” I whisper. Peeta scowls and Finnick merely begins to rinse my body free of the red stain. It doesn’t take long before he realizes that some of the blood isn’t going away – that it’s coming from me.

“Peeta, can you go check on Johanna and Beetee? Get the flask and some water as well.” Finnick sends him off, leaving us alone in the water as his fingers cup water into my hair. We don’t speak for a moment, not until he is surely out of earshot, before Finnick meets my eyes with a deadly stare. “What did you do?”

I didn’t do anything. I want to scream it out. To salvage me from my own blame and convince him that I didn’t want this – that I wanted this child. His words send me over the edge and I’m reeling and letting my body sink into the water that if not for his hands would surely drag me under.

“Katniss, stop. Stop!” I hadn’t realized I was thrashing until he grips the collar of my suit and pulls me up for air. I must look wild because his face has softened and he’s frowning.

“I didn’t do it Finnick – not on purpose. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know, I don’t know what’s happening!” My voice is a few octaves higher than normal and I can tell that I’m panicking here in this salt water as the cameras look on and watch us. His fingers brush gently against my temple as he hushes me.

“It’s alright. It will be alright.” He swirls his hand in the water around my body and forces the accumulating blood to disperse. It works and we climb onto the sand and head back towards the safety of our beach. Peeta meets us halfway, his breath heavy from running.

“Here,” He hands me the water and supports half of my body with his as we walk back together. It’s abnormally quiet between the three of us, a new tension filling the air as my secret hovers between Finnick and I.

There’s no way to hide this – not for long. I can still feel the wisps of my body expelling fluid down my legs as we walk. Surely I’ve lost too much blood and I’m paler than the moon. Neither one says anything as I’m settled down on the sand. Finnick thankfully places a palm frond over my legs, hiding my lower half for a while longer.

“What the fuck is wrong with her?” I can hear Johanna yell from nearby. I watch Peeta’s feet turn away from me, looking at her as she yells out.

“Back off, Jo.” Finnick is quick to silence her and I watch his feet step away from my place in the sand. Peeta settles down in front of me, his hand running into my loose hair.

“I thought we’d lost you for a moment,” He mutters. I don’t want to hear it. Don’t want to be the center of his focus. He needs to live. I close my eyes tightly and try to imagine we’re back in District 12. His fingers continue their ministrations along my scalp and I can feel the tears escape my eyes.

I feel his body shift down to lay in front of me as his arm skirts around my hip to pull me close. I still hurt inside, every move reminding me of the tenderness of my body. I bite my lip to hide the moan of pain, determined to just not be here, in this moment.

“Katniss, something’s wrong.” He whispers it against my face, his warm breath tickling me. I can’t do it. Can’t. No. It’s not fair. I feel his hand press into my back, trying to pull me closer and I can’t handle the pain, whether mental or real I can’t tell, and I cry out.

His hand shoots back as if burned and he’s up in a flash, pulling the leaves from me and recognizing the small pool of blood in the sand around my legs. I can’t stop the tears now, or the utter suffocation that’s pulling me under.

Vaguely behind Peeta I hear Johanna shouting again and Finnick reining her in. I hear Beetee yelling for everyone to calm down. I hear Peeta kneeling over me repeating his words:

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Everything’s alright.” Even though surely it’s not. He tucks the palm leaves back around me and I feel him stand and pace away. I don’t move at his abandonment. I deserve to be left here to die. I wasn’t strong enough. Not nearly strong enough for this.

It feels like forever before Peeta returns to my side though I’m sure it’s really only a moment. His hands reach out and lift me up, walking me again towards the careful caress of the water. Finnick offers to help and I hear Peeta snap at him. When I’m floating once again, Peeta grips my hands in his and presses a kiss to my forehead.

“It’s okay. It’ll be alright.” I blink open my eyes and look at him for the first time. He’s crying. I can’t take this. With whatever strength I have left I turn over my body in the water and attempt to swim away, to escape his punishment, but he grabs on my heel and there’s no real fight to resist his pull. Before I realize he’s got me in his arms, his embrace crushing me to his chest as his lips find my neck.

I feel like a traitor, like I’ve betrayed him and I don’t deserve his comfort. I want to push away, I put my hands on his chest to do so but he stops me.

“Please don’t make me do this alone,” He’s begging me to stay and I don’t understand. I’m the one who’s failed us – not him.

“I’m sorry. I’m so _sorry_.” I try to make my words count as he pulls me closer. It hurts but I don’t say a thing.

“It’s okay. We’ll be okay. Just _stay_. Please. I need you to just stay with me.” I rest my head on his shoulder and let our bodies float together in the water. He cries into my hair and I try to hide my face in his neck. I don’t know how long we stay there before Finnick is calling to us, offering dinner.

When we step from the water I’m no longer bleeding. I don’t feel right, but I don’t say anything. I know if doesn’t matter – I’ll die soon here anyways. I just hope that he’s far away when it finally happens so he doesn’t have to lose two things he loves.

 


	4. Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beetee.

Though Haymitch is quick to assure me, the probability of likeliness is still quite low. I’d say hovering around 6% survival rate if that, and given operable conditions. Statistical probability of the Hunger Games generally puts females in the low category, therefore defaulting this fetus into the lowest category of odds.

I've always been good with my hands, quick on my feet and able to turn anything into any tool. It's one of my strengths, the reason I won my Games. But since then I've only been forced deeper into the Capitol's net, forced to cook up ideas that go against every instinct I have when it comes to technological advances. There's an ethical issue that I can't seem to block out - one that clearly extends to putting this girl back in the Arena in her state.

I feel my fingers twitch on the keyboard, each stroke recording my thoughts faster than the last. They’re quick and nimble across the keys; pulling forth the final intentions for what remains of my family should I not survive this bout of the Arena.

I know there’s a plan in place, one meant to get us all out safely and into a war of epic proportions, but it still remains logical that I sort out the assignment of my finances and possessions to those who will survive if the rebellion fails.

At least, should it fail, they’ll have enough funds to survive for a few years. And a house to live in that is free of the intricately designed Capitol spying tools.

Oh, I do miss my bed. I crack my aging knuckles and listen to the bits of my hands twist together.

When I’ve finally assigned the final remaining catalogued items of my household I close the lid of the computer, tucking it into its carrying case and storing it away beside my bed. Never do I go anywhere without this machine close by.  At least until tomorrow.

 

Xxxx

 

I’ve never seen an Arena like this before. I’m standing on my plate, the water licking my feet as I look out across the depths and see Wiress panicking. I don’t know where my alliance is but they best get to her soon or they’ll be out of luck. All she needs is to get to shore – we’ll handle the rest.

Without waiting a minute more I submerse myself in the water, learning to use the floating device at my hips to buoy my body as I head towards the Cornucopia. I get there slower than the rest, but fast enough to see the glint of the wire spool that I know has been put here for me.

Struggling my weak frame onto the platform, I roll and crawl into the mouth of the beast and grab it, heading back out towards Wiress’ plate. I won’t much be able to help her, but I can calm her until someone comes.

Alas, before I get there Johanna has arrived and is pulling her off the metal ring and towards shore. I try to pick up speed, my hand heavy with the spool.

“Where’s everyone else?” I call out to Johanna, pulling my body onto the safety of the sand and crawling up towards a silent Wiress. She’s gone again, deep into one of her states that reappears every so often since her Games.

She and I, both Victor’s from District 3, have represented the meager probability of win for far too long. Though I have my moments, she is surely worse for wear whenever we’re called back to the Capitol and it does not seem to surprise her reaction at having actually been put back in the Games.

Neither of us had really wanted to go, but we’d had no choice.

Johanna reappears from her desertion in the trees, her thin frame reminding me of the frailty and vulnerability of our exposed position. We need to find the others. I repeat my earlier question, probing her for more than just silence.

I’m answered by the ramblings of Wiress who seems to be lost in her own mind.

“I don’t see them. We’ll have to track them.” Johanna replies but I’m too busy to hear it, my hands brushing Wiress’ hair from her face.

“Worry not, we’ll find them and she’ll be alright,” I soothe. I wish I could bring her back but I was never a whisperer of the mind. My words were saved for code and connections.

Without warning, Johanna head’s out into the trees. I struggle to get Wiress moving and follow her through the thick underbrush. I know that this is the plan – that it’s all playing out right so far – but I can’t help but grow weary of this woman’s incapability to care.

I don’t bother to voice it. I’ve known Johanna long enough to know that any words condemning her behaviour are wasted on stubbornness. Instead we press forward, my body supporting and pulling my partner along beside me.

The walk only utilizes a portion of my brain as the other part quickly grows distracted with options for use in the Arena. While I know that there is a component that I’m missing, that the other Gamemakers have added without notice, I also need to prepare a plan for how to escape.

Looking around, I begin to take notice of my surroundings. Dense trees, thick air, hills on all sides. None of this Arena has anything easy about it. I try not to think it, but the probability of a fetus surviving the stress of this atmosphere, especially in an unaccustomed body, is lowering significantly.

I shouldn’t think that way. I can’t help it. That’s how I’m wired.

We push forward for hours, for days, the upward slope of our ascent burning my aged muscles and causing exhaustion to set in at a faster pace.

It’s just about time for me to collapse when I hear it, the roaring wave of liquid red that seems to be cascading down from the sky above us.

My heart stops and I grip Wiress’ hand tighter as Johanna turns and bolts towards us. She grabs Wiress’ free hand and pulls us away from the descending liquid, down through the trees and back to the beach. We’re not fast enough and it falls thickly over us, coating our skin.

When we reach the beach, I try not to look up. We run until the rain stops and we’re free of it like a closed curtain. Looking between us, my heart skips at the sight.

We’re absolutely covered.

Wiress is screaming.

Everything is haywire.

It takes a little prodding, but Johanna has us off again, this time down the beach. The earlier wave of liquid seems to be nothing more than something to impact our minds and get to us on the inside. Almost like they knew that it would throw some of us over the edge.

And it has. With each step, Wiress’ voice grows more panicked and edgy, her words coming out in quick bursts that I can only half decipher. I can see the tension growing in Johanna’s shoulders and soon she’ll snap. I only hope that it’s not with violence, though surely it will be.

I hope she remembers her role here, in this Arena.

 

Xxxx

 

Connecting with the rest of the group levels out the tension. Johanna has noticeably calmed now that we’ve located Finnick which I’m thankful for, but it’s the sight of Katniss and her pallor skin that has me worrying the inside of my cheek.

The odds are too low. I don’t say anything.

When she comes over to help care for Wiress I’m surprised at the tolerance and respect that she maintains. Never once does she refer to her as ‘Nuts’, her loathed nickname, or treat her as anything less than human.

I wish I could tell her. Save her from the signs that she’s probably experiencing. But I don’t. I know better. Maybe we’ll finish faster.

Able to break away from Wiress for a moment’s peace, I focus more intently on the wire. It’s a phenomenal conductor, one developed in 3 itself. Sometime over the past few hours I remember seeing a strike of lightning pulse down on the Arena.

“Volts...” It all begins to click into place as I think my plan through. If I know which tree it will hit, I can capture the electricity, route it through the water, and blow the Cornucopia. That should trigger the pods of the plates which may be enough to crack the walls.

If not, at least it will kill a fair enough portion of us, maybe even that sick woman Enobaria, that it’ll be easier to do this all the old fashion way.

I’m glad I wrote my final assignments.

 

Xxxx

 

I hadn’t even noticed that Katniss had disappeared. I’d been too involved in my plan and the struggle to stay afloat while I tried to block out Wiress’ death. Her open throat, her bloody smile.

It made my blood run cold.

I hear the group shouting around me, heading off in all different directions. It’s a bad idea – lowers our chances. I don’t say anything though. I know they’ll find her soon enough – she probably hasn’t gone far. She couldn’t, not by the way she was looking when she left to attempt to hunt.

I settle back down to the mock scenario that I have running in my head. By my calculations the clock system will work – should we implement it in time. I look up and see Finnick and Peeta circulating in the water. Good.

I’m startled out of my watching by Johanna who has returned from her search on the other side of the beach. If it’s all like I believe it is the next few moments are going to be horrible enough for Katniss, without the added cruelty of unnecessary words.

“Johanna, perhaps it’s best if you think before you speak for the next few moments.” I receive a glare for my thought.

When Peeta comes running up for water, he’s soon gone again before Johanna has time to ask any questions. I remain seated, watching them approach. The girl is pale. Zero percent.

I don’t want to be here anymore. Not that I ever did. But now even more so I want to escape the confines of this Arena and the endless tortures that they’ve submitted us to. This girl didn’t deserve this. None of it. She deserved to live and prosper like they promised.

I get to my feet then as they lay her on the ground, Finnick diligently placing palm leaves over her torso. It’s smart, but it’s only a delay. Peeta will realize soon enough.

He didn’t deserve this either.

I step forward towards the trees, ignoring the initial shout of Johanna and the returning yell of Finnick. Their voices continue to grow louder and more forceful until I hear it come to blows. I can’t take it anymore. We’re turning on each other.

“Will all of you just calm _down_?” I see Finnick and Johanna halt in their steps towards each other. They’ve known me for years, yet they’ve never seen me like this. My eyes look over to where Peeta is laying on the ground with Katniss.

He’ll know so soon.

I turn back to the two Victor’s before me and whisper urgently, “I have a plan.”

It’s in the middle of the details when we hear the tentative peace break, the low sound of agony finding us across the beach. Finnick offers to help but it’s no good. None of us can help them now.

Instead we wait it out; laying the details into the structure I’ve created to trap the Arena itself. After a while, Finnick has prepared dinner and is calling us all back together to eat. We see the sorrow but we push it away, ignore it like Victor’s learn so well to do.

The probability of failure was always high, no matter how much the others had wished for success. I hadn’t quite subscribed to that hope.

Sometimes I can’t help but hate being able to calculate the odds. They’re rarely ever in your favour and when they are... Well it’s usually not enough.

 


	5. Part Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johanna Mason.

I’m sitting on the toilet off the hallway of the Capitol’s shopping centre. It’s surprisingly quiet here, the hustle and bustle of the people crowding the space almost disappearing behind this stall door.

Or maybe it’s quiet because I can’t focus on anything other than the little white stick that’s clutched in my fingers currently displaying a little plus symbol.

It’s a good thing that I’m already in the bathroom when I expel my latest rye and coke meal into the shining porcelain. It burns worse coming up than it did going down.

I wish I could throw up the plus symbol too. I might be from 7, but at least I know that _that_ is not possible.

Pulling myself together, I settle my things back into my backpack slipping it onto my boney shoulder and depositing my trash in the disposal unit provided. I push my way back into the crowded walkway of the centre and make my way back out onto the streets of the Capitol.

 

::::

 

Watching 74 is worse than pulling teeth. We turn it into a bender that is only dulled by the increasingly sober Haymitch. His Tributes are still alive. Fuck him.

It doesn’t matter much to me what’s growing in my belly. It’ll be taken care of soon enough. My appointment is booked for the end of the week (unless the Games aren’t over yet) and I’ve even arranged for my ride home.

It all makes sense to keep it at arm’s length – to avoid the entanglements of figuring out exactly who helped in the whole process and whether it was free or paid. In the end, it won’t matter anyways because it’s my choice. My body.

It’s better this way anyways.

God _damn_ them for selling me.

Finnick and I whittle away the hours in our cage, watching the Games with only half an eye cocked. When we curl into the soft sheets at the end of the night he doesn’t ask me how I am and I don’t prod him for anything more. Instead we close our eyes; our hands clasped together, and fall into the abyss of sleep.

He’ll be my ride home. He doesn’t ask if it’s his. He knows he doesn’t have a say.

 

::::

 

When it’s over and they’re sending me on my way, I bite and snark my way out of the office. Finnick takes me by the arm, flashing his pearly whites to all of the nurses in an attempt to have them forget I was even here.

It doesn’t matter if it makes the papers. They’d all expect it from me anyways.

‘Johanna Mason – Taking Care of Business’

That’s how they see me – a crazy girl who is too hostile for her own good. I try not to equate this with that – I was just doing what I needed to. Fuck them all. They say nice guys finish last – well thank God I’m a douchebag.

In the car it finally starts to feel like the drugs have taken control. I feel my head roll to the side as Finnick turns a corner.

“You going to be alright there Jo?” He asks, his hand pushing my shoulder up so that my body is cushioned once again in the middle of the seat. I nod, my head heavy. “Do you need anything else before we get you home?”

“A bottle of liquor would be nice, but I think they’ve told me to give it a day.” I reply. My mouth sticks on some of the words but I can’t help it. I know he understands – he always does.

Later, when I’m curled into my own sheets in the cold apartment that they’ve assigned me, Finnick sits on the edge of my bed and brushes his hand along my shoulder.

“Are you alright?” His words brush over me like velvet.

“It’s not as big of a deal as you think it is. Not for me, anyways.” I state. And it’s true. This wasn’t something I could control – it had happened against all probability. It only made sense to take care of it, just like you would with any other medical ailment. Still though – there is an ache that I can’t explain.

I feel his body lay down beside me and I finally open my eyes to meet his.

“I know that. I just wanted to make sure.”

We fall asleep and we wake up like that.

There are the odd times where Finnick and I find each other in the dark mess of drugs and alcohol, or in between the appointments that brand us, but this is not one of them. In these moments he’s more like another brother, one I wish I could carry around with me.  In these moments he’s one of the only things I have left.

 

::::

 

“Because of the baby.”

My eyes snap to Finnick at the words, my heart thudding heavily in my chest. He doesn’t look at me, instead his eyes trained on the boy before us who’s giving away a very big and very dangerous secret, especially considering what lay before us.

I wish he’d look at me. I need him to. Just once, please.

My fingers grip the arms of the chair tighter and I feel like I could break them off. When finally we stand and join hands, each Victor joining together in a show against the Capitol, I have to wipe the sweat off of my palms before I grasp anyone else.

At the end I make my way back up to my room in silence. I shift away when Blight tries to rest his palm on my shoulder, unable to deal with anyone touching me right now. He doesn’t take it personally, instead wandering off to his own room without another word.

I take dinner in my room and pull myself together.

Katniss Everdeen and I are nothing alike. We’re not similar and there is no way that this should be getting under my skin.

I take a deep breath and stand, determined to seek out Haymitch or Finnick or someone who will give me a drink and get my mind off of this.

I happen upon Haymitch first, already holding company with Beetee and a bottle. I know instantly that I won’t be getting a free pass on the Katniss-free train tonight. It’s all they can talk about. It makes my gut turn over with every mention.

I’m glad I’m not her. I can’t even imagine.

“Well, at least one of us doomed Victor’s had some happiness before they came back here.” I mutter when the room is almost silent. I feel Haymitch’s glare on me but I don’t falter. It’s true. Peeta got what he wanted – he got Katniss. None of us got what we wanted. I sure didn’t.

“You think that’s fair, Jo?” I can hear the subtle rage building behind his words. I don’t take the bait, instead shrugging and drinking back my shot.

It isn’t long before Finnick joins us. I can feel the anger emanating from him and it bothers me deeply. This whole scenario has thrown a wrench in our plan.

He still doesn’t look at me though I implore him to with my gaze.

I let Haymitch and Finnick exchange angry words before I watch Beetee leave. I don’t want to be alone with these two and I can already tell they don’t want me here either. This is between them – the masterminds of this whole plan. I get to my feet, pulling my clothing loose from my body and turning to them.

“This is all going to blow up in our faces boys, just be careful with your next set of instructions.”

I don’t go back to my room, instead slipping onto District 4’s floor and into Finnick’s room.

I will make him talk to me. Even if I myself don’t understand why I need to talk to him so badly.

 

::::

 

I’m woken up by Finnick crawling on to the bed beside me. He doesn’t ask me why I’m here. He doesn’t say a word, instead choosing to pull me close and breathing into my neck. I can still feel the rage burning in his system, keeping him awake and ready to fight.

I don’t know if I can say the next words and not mean them. If I can continue on _not_ saying them.

I tuck my head against his chest and stuff my arms between us, wrapping them around my chest. When I whisper the words, they’re muffled against his skin. I feel him pull away and rest his hands upon my forearms that protect me like armour.

“What was that?” He asks. I don’t look at him when I say it. I can’t.

“I asked why she gets everything and I can’t have anything.” I tense, waiting for a rejection that never comes.

“She hasn’t been around long enough. Besides, I didn’t think you wanted what she has.” He questions. It’s in his words that I find the careful hesitation that he’s always been so good at hiding. It’s how he handles business – it’s his mask. I hate when he puts on his mask to deal with me. I push up until I’m seated on the edge of the bed as far as I can get from him.

“I didn’t want it like _that_.” I hiss, trying to convey the difference. I hadn’t wanted a stranger growing in me. I didn’t even want a _child_. “It’s just that it’s not _fair_ Finn, that’s the problem.”  

I feel the bed shift below me, feel his arm snake around my waist.

“The Capitol isn’t _fair_ , Jo. Don’t be stupid. You can’t hate her for this – she probably didn’t want it either but now she’s stuck. She doesn’t have your options.”

I want to shout that I didn’t have options. That I had to take care of it. I don’t.

“Fine. You win.” I concede, not even bothering to get into fight mode. We need to rest.

I don’t turn back when he shouts my name, calling me back from the doorway that I walk through.

I can’t stay here tonight with him. Tomorrow we’ll be in the Arena. Tomorrow I’ll have to kill again. I don’t need a sleep buddy next to me when I mentally prep for that.

 

::::

 

“What the fuck is wrong with her?” I shout. I watch as Finnick and Peeta carry her along the beaches end, her hair still slightly matted with blood. Was she too stupid to stay away from that time zone?

Foolish girl.

“Back off Jo,” I watch Finnick coming towards me then, his eyes hot with anger that I think is directed towards me. What did I do? I take a step back as he approaches, watching Beetee out of the side of my eye. He’d warned me to think first. I hadn’t.

Finnick is on me then, his fingers bruising my arms with their grip. I can’t help but notice that his face is pale. That Katniss doesn’t look to hot herself. That Peeta is with her but he’s starting to freak out. There’s something wrong.

My skin prickles when I hear Katniss cry out. My blood feels like ice in my veins.

I look into Finnick’s eyes then, startled by their intensity.

Oh _no._

“What’s happening?” I’m shouting now, panic rising and tearing at my insides. He doesn’t answer, unwilling to speak the words. “No, no _no._ This isn’t supposed to happen! Stop letting it happen!”

I fight to break free of Finnick’s arms, to go to them and help, but it’s useless. He won’t let me go and my strength is almost non-existent.

I hear Beetee telling us to calm down. I hear Katniss’ cries. I hear Peeta sob once. There’s a ringing in my ears when I see the now vacant pool of blood.

I try to rein it in. Pull myself together. Ground my emotions.

I can’t do anything. I can’t save it. I can’t fix it. All we can do is get out alive.

I keep repeating that in my head, reminding myself with every breath.

 


	6. Part Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gale Hawthorne.

Walking home in the dark, another twelve hour marathon day under my belt, I feel the grime and the soot of the coal coating my whole body. It rubs in places where it never should be able to get and makes the whole experience that much worse. Especially since ending your shift does not mean a warm shower and a soft mattress.

No, for us it means another night of black sheets and a crushed hay bed.

Plus,  tonight will only be made worse by the revelations of the interviews that I’ve made it a point to miss. I know from last time that I can’t watch them this round. That surely I’ll be spooked by another one of Peeta Mellarks graceful attempts at Katniss.

No, I can’t watch them live and I hope perhaps that I can miss the replay as well.

As I walk the near mile path home I keep my head tucked down, ignoring the whispers and gasps that surround me. It’s not a good sign and I debate whether I should take the long way and avoid the embarrassment of the Hob. Everyone there knows better about Katniss and I – about the way I feel towards my ‘cousin’.

No, I won’t let it get to me.

I pull the heavy doors open and walk at a brisk pace, the soot falling off my shoulders in the still air. The people look and their eyes widen. I see Sae ahead of me and flinch at the way her eyes pity me. I don’t know if I want to know.

Yes, I do  – it’s better to find out here than from my family who will try not to make it a big deal.

Stopping in at her stall, I sit heavily on the stool and reach for the meager money I have in my pocket. Her hand reaches out and rests on my shoulder as she slips a bowl in front of me. My eyes meet hers in the dim light and I know it’s not good.

“He says she’s with child,” Sae mutters and my heart stops.

No.

I feel my lungs seize in my chest. This is worse than the option of marriage. This is worse than a Toasting or a promise or a confession from her. This is an admittance of something so much worse. This is her agreeing to a life she never wanted – to be married, to have children. She didn’t want this.

No, she must or she would have dealt with it.

I look up at Sae and feel my body rearing back and my legs tangling in the stool as I fall over. I stand swiftly from the ground and leave without another word. Heading home I don’t dare look up as my ears ring with Sae’s voice in my head. I slam the door to my house, my body heavy as it leans back and slides down the frame.

 “Gale, I’m sorry.” It’s Prim at my feet, her hand on mine.

No, she shouldn’t be apologizing for this – nobody should have to apologize except Snow.

 

::::::

 

 Despite my best attempts at playing sick I’m not allowed to skip out on another day in the mines. There’s no way we could miss our quota, especially not when the Capitol has increased their order in comparison to the last few months. My boss had asked me if I even still wanted a job.

“Yes,” I’d replied – though the job I wanted never involved being hundreds of feet in the ground.

Yes, I need to work to feed my family.

I’ve done my very best to watch every repeat of the Games that have played since they started – often that means staying up all hours of the night. There’s plenty of screen time for the Star-Crossed Lovers this time and I drink it in like a parched beast. I watch the way she moves, the way her hand splays across her stomach every so often.

Yes, it’s true what Peeta says about the Girl on Fire.

It’s when I’m coming home from work one night that the feeling of dread starts to fill me. There aren’t many people out tonight and that usually only means one thing – the Games broadcast has been extended. That something is happening in the Arena that begs people to watch. I rush home to that realization, bursting through the door and startling the bodies crammed onto the couch.

Yes, something is indeed happening.

My mother is at my side before I’ve even pulled my boots off, her hands resting on my shoulders as she looks me in the eyes. She’s imploring me to be measured with whatever is playing out before us. I look over and see Prim sitting in Mrs Everdeen’s lap, Rory’s hand tight in hers and holding on for dear life.

“That’s too much blood,” Mrs Everdeen whispers and it’s a medical conclusion.

No.

I see the blood on the sand, the way that Peeta rests his hand on her stomach as he leads her to the water and I can’t move any further. My legs collapse below me and I end up on the floor, my eyes never straying from the television set. I feel Posy climb into my lap, feel her tears on my shirt. She doesn’t understand what’s happening but she can feel it in the air.

“I don’t think she’s strong enough for this,” I hear Mrs Everdeen whisper and I want to throw her out.

Yes, she is strong enough for this because Peeta will make her strong enough.

We sit in silence as the camera focuses in on Peeta and Katniss in the water. It doesn’t bother with the other Victors – they’re not suffering in public. Instead it stays glued to the desperately clutching pair as Peeta begs for comfort and Katniss begs for forgiveness. I wish I could look away, that I could hold her – hell, hold them both – and tell them it’s okay.

Yes, I love Katniss Everdeen but so does Peeta Mellark and he’s losing something as well.

When we see them finally calm, see the tears dry up and the nails unclench from palms, it’s like we’re able to breathe again. There are tears, but also a small bit of relief. I condemn the thought but I can’t help thinking that maybe this is best. There’s a fire building outside of the Arena and the spark has just been lit.

Yes, Panem will burn with the symbol of those who’ve lost everything.


	7. Part Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haymitch Abernathy

“Oh dearest Haymitch, have you come to finally repay your outstanding debt?”

“Which one?” And I spit it because my tongue is thick and the liquor is burning a hole in my gut. Tomorrow they go into the Arena, tomorrow they all go to die. This is my last ditch effort to save them should the Rebellion fall apart.

“Ha, which one. You choose. Your debt to society for letting all of those little Tributes die? How about for skipping out on your appointments that we arranged? No? Perhaps you’d like to pay for that mess that your girl is in-“ I feel myself flinch though I try not to move a muscle “Ah, ahh. So apparently that’s the one. Come to beg for her safe return?”

I look up at him then, Snow’s snakelike eyes meeting mine. I can see the carefully contained fury behind them. 

“Only one will survive the Arena, or have you forgotten the rules?” He pauses and I watch his fingers curl in his white beard. “I guess, perhaps you have considering your _success_ last year. No, we will not be having a repeat of that.”

I nod. I didn’t come here to beg for them both to survive. I came to ask for something worse.

“Don’t kill it on purpose.” My words are stronger than I expected, more forceful as I gauge his reaction. I watch as his head falls back and a sick laughter spills out.

“Oh Haymitch, you fool. We kill them all on purpose. That’s the _point_.” He speaks in between tickled giggles and breaths of air. I feel my nails dig into my palms.

“You know what I mean, Coriolanus.” It’s deadly serious now, his laughter stalled in his throat as his eyes come level with mine. “Don’t kill it to kill it – the people will never love you for that. They’ll mourn it and it will be brutal and the press – God can you imagine the press, ‘Gamemakers Kill Innocent’. You know I’m right – there will be backlash.”

He doesn’t speak for a moment and I can feel the tension beyond my numbed body.

“Perhaps you’re right.”

I try not to look into the words. I know he’s thinking up something far more depraved than what he’s letting on. That’s how we got here – Panem under his thumb. I’ve been around long enough to see his rule evolve from pure leadership to micro-control. He’s sick on it now and he won’t stop until he’s dead.

“I am right. I usually am.” He lets out another bark of laughter and gets to his feet. I’m dismissed without words, Peacekeepers swinging the door open for me behind my back. I stand there for a moment, watching him gaze out the window of his office.

When it doesn’t look like he’ll be addressing me anything further, I turn and head for the escape with an increased interest – I came here to do what I did, nothing more. This went beyond my duties as a Mentor – it even so much as ventured into my duty as an ethical man.

It’s when my foot is over the threshold that he calls out, my chest tightening at his voice.

“Haymitch, do make sure to congratulate her for me – won’t you?”

I look back and I see the twinkle in his eye, the sick way his lips curl into a tight smile. It’s predatory and vicious and it’s only a _look_ but still. President Snow will make sure that everyone I love is dead.

He’s done it before; it only makes sense to do it again. This is the Third Quarter Quell afterall, it’s practically tradition.

 

 

 

 

So far so good. I haven’t been to sleep yet – unable to close my eyes for fear of the whole plan collapsing before me. I watch them on the uninterrupted feed, the live viewings from the Capitol’s Mentor Chambers that allow you to control which camera you focus in on.

It’s almost like you’re there, the way this chamber is designed.  Just another way for the Capitol to fuck with its Victors.

I look down at the sums of money that seem to tick up with each passing moment. The Sponsors this year are just rolling in – feasting upon the Alliance that we’ve created.

I only wish Cinna had been here to see this all play out, that sick bastard who planted the seed in my mind with one late night phone call after the announcement of the Quell. I can still remember his voice in my ear, as clear as day.

“I’ve built the kindling ‘Mitch, you have to light the fire. Burn this place to the ground.”

And then he’d hung up and I’d set down the receiver quietly. Okay, maybe I’d ripped it out of the wall. But in that time of Capitol silence, I’d made my plans. When my phone was reinstalled not a week later, I’d wasted no time in contacting Finnick to set up a meet.

The plan to join the Rebellion had been born.

I return my attention to the numbers as they scroll higher. With plenty in the coffers, I don’t hesitate to send down a package of food for them to eat. They’ll feast well in this Arena, if there’s anything I have to say about it.

When the parachute lands, I try not to enjoy the smiles on their faces at the offering. I know that it’s no time to smile, not even a little, but if this is a simple pleasure they don’t have to fight for it’s at least better than nothing.

I hear Katniss’ appreciation the loudest, her sigh able to describe the hunger they must be feeling. I want to tell her to eat up, to take in the nutrients while she can.

It’s different this round, like Peeta and I share a direct connection regarding keeping Katniss alive. He presses the heavy nut-filled bread into her palm, explaining the simple benefits of the hearty loaf. He knows his bread and he knows what she needs in her state.

Together, just like before, we’ll keep her alive.

We’ll keep _them_ alive, I correct.

 

 

 

 

It’s a few hours later when I feel my blood freeze in my veins, my brain not computing fully what I’m seeing on the monitor before me. I watch as she grips her stomach, as her bow slips from her fingers and she collapses on the beach.

“Katniss,” Her name is like a whisper on my lips as she curls up on the ground. “Get up, get up, don’t let them watch.” I repeat to myself. I’m alone in the chamber, desperately willing her to get back to her feet.

She doesn’t.

I know what’s wrong – from this vantage point the cameras are taking in every angle. I see the blood on her legs and the way her body visibly shakes.

There’s nothing I can do from here. No medicine I can send, no balms that will soothe this pain.

It seems like hours that I watch her lay there, alone in the sand as her body fights itself. When finally she stands, wobbly on her feet like a lamb, I breathe again. There’s no saving it – but she’s mobile and that matters.

“Turn around Katniss,” I urge as she looks around. Her gaze flies up to the sun that bears no sense of time. She’s heading off in the wrong direction and there’s nothing I can do.

I watch helplessly as she wanders into the part of the forest that I’ve mapped out as the Witching Hour. Blood rain. I understand what she’s doing now; I would applaud if it weren’t so horrific. The clock turns over and the rain lets loose, coating her and hiding her distress. It’s brilliant in the rare event that the Capitol didn’t see what’s transpired.

I don’t understand her motives though as she walks into the water, floating as it slowly gets deeper. It feels like forever before the camera pans out to Finnick swimming towards her.

“Finally,” I grumble. She shouldn’t be alone right now.

In all honesty, I don’t know what she’ll do. Since discovering this secret she’s been nothing but distant from me. Not that we were ever really close before but this is different. Like she doesn’t trust me to save her.

I listen carefully, my chest tightening at the gentle way Finnick washes her clean. He knows. I can see it now as he sends Peeta off.

“What did you do?”

Finnick’s words burn in my gut and I want to strangle him for laying blame. My heart breaks for her as she tries to escape. We both know she did nothing to cause this.

Time seems to draw out when Peeta returns. Even I can feel the way the air gets tighter in the Arena as the secret is contained. Nobody wants to tell the boy. Nobody wants to see that loss. It will be so clear on his face that nothing will be hidden – all of Panem will feel their pain when he finds out.

I pull my flask from my pocket for the first time since the Quell started. Cradling it in my hands, I lift it to my lips when Katniss cries out. He’ll know in a moment.

I’m surprised and distracted when I catch Johanna breaking down further down the beach. It catches me off guard the way her face mangles in pain and she calls out. I’ve missed something here. This is not the Johanna I know.

Suddenly, I feel everything breaking down. It’s overwhelming the way the room seems to close in as Johanna yells and Finnick fights, as Peeta clutches to Katniss for dear life, his tears masked by the water surrounding them. It’s suffocating and tragic and it feels like the worst Arena I’ve ever laid witness to.

And I can do nothing to help any of them. My broken Victor’s. My broken friends.

I quietly press the button for more food to be delivered and then turn off the screens. Shifting to my feet I stand and rest my hands on my waist. I feel the pressure release from my chest as I let go of my silence, shouting out and breaking the closest glass object.

It shatters across the floor with a crash, its slivers shining in the light.

I’m startled back out of my daze by a knock at the door. On the other side are two Peacekeepers, one bearing a bowl of floating roses and the other a note. They pass the objects to me and then leave without a word.

I know who these are from. It’s obvious. I feel my hands shake as they struggle to open the envelope, sure that something more is about to destroy us.

I don’t even finish the note as it’s written, my body slumping to the ground. I can’t look at it. It can’t be real. But when I pick it up again, my eyes scanning the clever type, I feel the bile rise in my throat.

“I do hope she enjoyed the baker’s finest. I hear nothing takes care of a bun in the oven like the wrong kind of _ingredients_.”


	8. Part Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Primrose Everdeen

Ever since the Games began I’ve been watching them with Rory and his family. They’ve made me welcome, kept me company, kept my mind clear of all of the horrible things that I couldn’t _not_ think about while Katniss sacrificed herself again for me.

I watch them with the Hawthorne’s because my mother won’t.

After hearing Peeta’s admission during the interviews she’d been too embarrassed to face Hazelle or Gale or any of the other people of the Seam. She hadn’t even stuck around that night to wait for Gale to come home, like I had, just to make sure he was alright.

My mother wanted nothing to do with the lies or the truths that were broadcast to us. She was hurt that Katniss didn’t tell her before she left. But I don’t think that’s how it worked. In all honesty, I don’t think Katniss knew herself. I don’t like to think like that though.

Tonight was no different than any other night. I came over for dinner, bringing fresh bread that Peeta’s father had delivered earlier in the day as well as some meat from the butcher and some cheese. I liked contributing to this family that I only knew as my own, even if Gale turned up his nose at it. It wasn’t charity – it was love. But he didn’t see it that way. I tried not to let it get to me.

After finishing the meal, Rory and I took our usual walk into the Square. We mostly kept quiet during this time, ever since I mentioned how words seemed to muddy in my mouth when I was around him. And it’s true – they did.

I think I like Rory a lot but I can’t say anything in case he doesn’t like me in return.

I need the Hawthorne’s. I need them in case... No. She’ll come back again. And we’ll raise the baby. And it will be okay again. I can’t afford to think any other way.

Together we watch the sun slowly slip behind the trees from the market. When it’s no longer visible we know that’s when the Peacekeepers will start to round everyone up to watch the next segment of the Games. That’s when we make our way home, back to where Hazelle has gathered Vick and Posy up to watch the Games with us.

Gale isn’t there – he never is. He’s always working. I can’t help but think that it’s better this way for all of us.

The few times I’ve watched the Games with Gale, it’s been almost too much to handle. For 74, he’d suffered through the scenes in the cave as though he was being ripped to pieces. My heart had hurt for him then but I could do nothing. I was glad he didn’t have to watch them live now.

I’m startled from my thoughts by the boom of the TV clicking to life in the living room. Diligently we all gather round, Rory on my left and Hazelle on my right, both their hands gripping mine as the scenes open up.

The Gamemakers start off the broadcast with a light recap of what’s been happening in the Arena while they were offline. Each Tribute gets a small story arc that sums up exactly what they’ve been up to. I can’t help but notice that Katniss and Peeta hold a larger time recap than the rest.

I judge the mood of her alliance that all seem quite lighthearted as they are rewarded with rations and reunited with more allies. I try not to think about how many allies Katniss and Peeta have. It’s just more people who will have to die to let her live.

I feel Rory’s hand grip tighter to mine as Johanna appears covered in a blood-like substance during her segment. She makes me uncomfortable and I try not to picture scenes from her Games that they’ve been playing this year in full force. Neither of us are comfortable with Johanna Mason.

When Katniss finally comes on screen, a small smile on her lips as she receives bread from Peeta, I know she’s alright, at least for now.

The recaps close out with Peeta explaining the various types of bread that have been delivered, once again proving how even in the most difficult of times he can remain good. It nearly breaks my heart that he’s planning to not survive this.

We settle in for the first hour of the broadcast by preparing mugs of tea and a small spattering of bread and cheese. The scenes that play before us are mostly banter between the Tributes, sometimes a caption of strategy or brainstorming on the Arena.

If Katniss weren’t there, I’d even go so far as to say tonight’s segment is boring.

I’m in the kitchen tidying up the dishware when I hear the small cry from Hazelle. I feel the chill run down my spine as I slowly turn to look at her, her hands clutched to her mouth. I drop the cup from my fingers and let it crash on the floor. My eyes meet Rory’s across the room and I walk slowly towards the living room, the television coming into my periphery. His eyes never leave mine before I turn to the screen and see Katniss lying on the sand.

My breath whooshes out of my lungs and suddenly I feel light headed. I keep my legs strong and my back straight, determined to watch it happen all the while screaming in my head for her to stand up. She can’t hear me.

“Rory, please run and get Mrs Everdeen from her house.” I hear Hazelle muffle through her fingers. In a snap Rory is at my side, pulling me in for a tight hug before he bolts out the door. I’m frozen to the floor as I watch my sister shake alone on the beach.

“Where is everyone?” Vick asks, and his voice is quiet and broken but asking the only thing I want to know.

“Prim, Prim come here.” I slowly turn my head towards Hazelle who has her arm reached towards me, her other hand still covering her lips. She never turns her eyes away from the TV as I walk carefully towards her.

When I’m within reach she’s pulling me onto her lap and holding me as though I’ll disappear. I can’t help but feel the shock of adrenaline running through my body. There’s nothing I can do except watch it happen.

My mother and Rory come crashing through the door just as Katniss has found her way into the water, rinsing herself clean of the blood rain. Immediately she joins us on the couch, trading me off of Hazelle’s lap onto her own. I feel Rory’s hand on my leg and I grasp it tightly in mine.

There’s nothing we can do but watch. I understand what’s happening now. She’s losing her baby. She’s losing Peeta’s baby.

My heart breaks for my sister who always gives so much for everyone else. She didn’t deserve this.

 

 

 

 

I’ve come a long way since watching my sister have a miscarriage during the Quarter Quell.

I survived the bombing of District 12. I made the trek to District 13. I’ve become a Nurse-in-Training and I’ve salvaged more lives than I’ve seen lost (in the line of duty, at least).

Despite all this, I’m still not prepared for seeing Katniss for the first time since her rescue. I stand outside her door, practicing my lines and using Rory as a sounding board. He’s barely left my side since the night of the bombing and I thank him every day for that.

“Just go talk to her Prim, she’s still your sister.” His voice brings me back to the present and I know he’s right. Nodding my head once, I push through the heavy metal door and enter the room. She’s pale and scarred and thin and it hurts me to see her like this.

I struggle to hold in the tears as I step closer, her eyes shocking open as though startled.

“Hi Katniss, how are you feeling?” I sit quietly in the small chair by the side of her bed, the one that’s very often occupied by Haymitch. I take in the healthy numbers of her machines and try to smile for her.

“You look so much older now, Prim.” It’s not what I’m expecting her to say. It makes my chest hurt.

“I’m still your little sister,” I reassure her, desperate for her to be okay. How could she be okay? It’s not right.

“I lost the baby in the Arena.”

And I know that this is what she’ll say because it’s what Haymitch says she always says. Ever since she woke up from the medically induced coma the doctors put her in when she came out of the Arena, she’s only talked about the baby.

I try harder not to cry, taking her hand in mine.

“I know Katniss.” I rub my finger across the back of her hand in soothing circles as a tear slips from her eye.

“Can you tell Peeta I’m sorry? Can you... Why hasn’t he visited me?” Haymitch didn’t warn me about this – about the confusion of the Games and how Katniss still didn’t understand that the Capitol had Peeta. He should have told me.

I squeeze her hand tighter and meet her gaze with mine.

“Katniss, Peeta isn’t here.” She starts to cry and I stand up and brush her hair from her face, my fingers resting on her cheek. “The Capitol... They took him when the Arena was destroyed – don’t you remember?”

And I know she does because she cries even harder at my words. It’s suddenly too hard to watch her suffer alone so I crawl up onto the bed and wrap her in my arms. I need to be the big sister for her right now. I need her to feel my love. I need to save her, for a change.

 


	9. Part Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peeta Mellark.

Breathe. That's all I can do. In. Out. Just breathe.   
   
I can't.

 

 

 

I don't volunteer to take watch that night. Finnick doesn't ask and Johanna has disappeared into the forest.  
   
It doesn't matter. I couldn't leave her even if I tried.   
   
Oh, Katniss.   
   
I pull her closer to me as we huddle in the sand at the edge of the trees. She's barely spoken since I pulled her out of the water and led her to eat. She didn't even bother with a single piece.  
   
Nobody could bear to look at her. At us. They kept their eyes to the ground as they ate and left us to the suffering silence.  
   
I couldn't blame them - even I was lost for words. The master of language was left without a tongue.  
   
I feel her beside me shift and roll away and it's all I can do not to lock her within my embrace.  
   
For the last few hours as the day disappeared I've never left her side despite her attempts to pull away. I know she wanted to disappear. But I couldn't let her suffer alone.  
   
No, there was a selfish part too. I didn't want to suffer alone.   
   
I'd lost something too.  
   
All of my carefully laid plans now seemed useless, I realize as my fingers fondle the token I brought with me into the arena. The locket was half empty - a portrait of her family and Gale, and a spot for the child who would never be.  
   
I can't give it to her now. She'd see it as a reminder of everything that's happened - not as a beacon of hope like it was intended.  
   
Dammit.  
   
She shifts further away from me, her body totally removing itself from contact with mine. I'm alone.   
   
Without another thought I roll over onto my back and let the tears I've been holding in for hours finally fall. I try to keep it silent, to keep her safe from the desperate way I want to hold her until its all okay.   
   
"I'm sorry," she whispers, her back to me. It's all she's said since I realized what was happening.    
   
It's too much then. I can't take her 'sorry' or another apology. I need her to just... I don't even know what I need except that I want her.   
   
All I want is her to stay with me forever. Until I die in this arena.   
   
I don't want to die. I don't want her to die. I didn't want... No. I can't think like that.  
   
Another sob escapes my chest against my will.   
   
"I'm sorry," She cries again.   
   
"Stop fucking apologizing Katniss, please I am begging you, please." The words rip from my mouth like an agonized plea. I see Finnick turn to us in the dark before he stands and walks off. Beetee is too far off to be woken up.  
   
The silence envelopes us again. I hear her crying softly, her sobs muffled by the arms she's wrapped around herself. I can't do this - I can't.   
   
Carefully I turn back in her direction and reach out, my palm cupping her shoulder. She pulls away quickly and my heart breaks.   
   
I don't care. Like in the water, I go against everything my mind tells me and I wrap my body tightly around her frame. I tuck my knees to the backs of hers, my chest pressing against her back and my arms pulling her close.   
   
"I can't do this without you," I murmur into her mangled hair. I still smell the tin of the blood rain, but underneath I smell her.   
   
"Peeta, I didn't -" I lay my hand over her clenched fist.  
   
"You did everything right. They did this - not you. I love you. I always will." I take a breath and shift my body against hers. "You'll go home Katniss, and you'll live. You will."   
   
And it becomes almost a desperate mantra that I repeat to myself. She has to go home. She has to keep living.   
   
"Please don't... Don't pull away from me now. I don't want to go this way. I don't want to die with you thinking it's your fault. I want to die knowing that you know I love you. That you'll survive this," Her stiff body turns towards me then, her eyes wild with panic at my words. I try to calm the fear in them by running my hand in her hair and smiling gently. "I want to know you'll live and you'll have babies and you'll love until you die old and in your bed. Showing the Capitol once and for all that they don't own you.” I press my hand gently to her chest, against her heart. “I’ll always be here, with you.”   
  


I don't wait for the words I see on her lips. Instead I kiss her, deep and slow and like there's no tomorrow because for me there just might not be.  
   


 

 

   
I'm laying on a cold table in a white room. I don't remember how I got here. All I know is that I hurt.  
   
I hear the footsteps at my feet and try to look down. My body won't move. My arms are strapped and there's needles sprouting from my skin.  
   
"Who is Katniss Everdeen?" The man says. I feel fear and rage run through my veins, my body shaking under the restraints.  
   
"She destroyed everything," I growl, surprising even myself with my rage.   
   
"Good, Peeta. Good."   
   
I can't help but feel dirty when he disappears, my mind recoiling at its own treacherous thoughts.

 

 

   
I see her through the window of my cell. I hate her. She took everything. She killed it.   
   
I pace around my room, caged.  
   
She destroyed everything.   
   
How dare they let her live? They are fools, she's going to burn us all to the ground!   
   
I step faster and turn on my heel, my eyes focusing on hers through the glass. My body tenses with the rage I'm trying to suppress.  
   
But then there's a flash of a memory and she's laying with me in the warm sand and I'm saying that I love her and it's not her fault. And I know that maybe this was real.  
   
When I look back at her then, the new memory fresh in my mind’s eye, I see her tears.   
   
It's real. So very real.

 


	10. Part Ten.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katniss Everdeen.

They're sending me to a head doctor. Not for my brain, but apparently for my "mental state".

I didn't think these types of doctors existed. We never had them in District 12. But here in 13, where there's little sunlight and even little more reason to live than the natural body's reaction, here they have a lot of them.

We're all crazy in this hole.

Since I was rescued from 75, I haven't really been my best self, I'll be honest. I think they're worried; the ones who want to control me. But I don't care.

I never wanted to be a martyr.

Haymitch has tried to tell me that this is the best doctor they have. All I've wanted to ask is why are they bothering? We all know what's wrong.

Peeta's gone. District 12 is gone. The baby...

I can't talk about it anymore. Every time I do I remember the last conversation I had with Peeta. I can't.

I feel my fingers begin to tap on my knees as I sit outside the doctor’s office door. I don't want to be here. I wouldn't be if I could run from this chair but my legs don't seem to want to work and Haymitch had rolled me down here himself.

The door swings open before me and a balding little man steps out. Ours eyes meet as he appraises me, his dark gaze flitting over my bedraggled appearance.

It's uncomfortable.

"So this is what's become of the Mockingjay?" He wonders under his breath, but I can hear it.

I don't have any words, like always since my return, as he grabs the back of my chair and steers me into his office. It’s dark and dank and instantly repulsive.

"So, Katniss..." I feel his breath on my face and I want to scream. This isn't right. This is wrong. "Tell me, how did it feel to lose your child on national television?"

I stop paying attention. His words are vicious. Predatory. This is not a head game I'm willing to play.

Every day since that first appointment it's the same routine. I'm wheeled down, I wait, he wheels me in and plays with my hair or breathes on my neck. He asks me about the baby. He asks me about Peeta.

One particularly bad appointment, after they force gruel down my throat, I vomit in his lap. He slaps me. I want to kill him.

Why was this real? I wanted so badly to escape. To die.

I'm laying in my hospital bed, curled into the fetal position, when Haymitch comes in to take me to my appointment.

"Sweetheart, it's time." And his liquored breath wafts in my face as he bends over to look in my eyes.

"I don't even know his name." I mumble it so quietly, the first words I've spoken to him in weeks. I watch his eyes tighten as he examines me carefully - tentatively. "He asks me about it but I don't even know his name. He gets too close. He mocks me. He hit me. I can't go back."

I know my words have surprised him. The way he stands and walks away from me, pacing around the sparse space, concerns me. When he settles back down, he pulls up a chair and watches me. They’ve backed me into a corner and the only way out is grasping for these straws.

"You need help." He states, so calmly it's surprising from him.

"I know," I whisper in return, my head nodding in agreement.

"Talk to me. What do you need Katniss?" And the way he's almost desperate to help makes the panic rise in my chest. Haymitch never looks desperate.

"I just want Peeta." He nearly sighs with frustration but catches himself, putting his hands to his lips and sitting back.

"You know he's not well." He treats the words like it's the final nail in a coffin. I know he's sick - they did that to him - but I know that Peeta's still in there somewhere.

He promised me.

 

 

 

 

"Get down from there, its lunch time." I hear him shout out in the backyard and my skin buzzes with excitement. Still.

"If they didn't have your genes, I'd be worried they would break their necks. But they're just like their beautiful Mum. Climbing trees, watching the forest." I feel him at my back now, pressing his body flush against mine as his arms wrap around my hips. My breath escapes in a tiny pant as he places a kiss below my ear.

"Ewww! Pops!" My hands stall on the bread I was buttering for sandwiches as the kids stumble into the room. He steps back and teases in return as they all settle around the table.

I can't take my eyes off of him during lunch. The memory of him not being around for so long is still fresh after awakening last night during one of his fits.

Sometimes he still gets sick. Sometimes I still get sick.

Today is an aftershock day. We send the kids to Haymitch and take the time to figure out how to be close to each other again.

Every time it's different. Every time it ends the same.

I tidy up while he delivers the kids. It's routine. When he walks back through the door it's like the atmosphere changes and sparks.

"I love you," he whispers. I know without looking that he's standing in the doorway, waiting for me.

Turning around, I place the dishes back in the cupboard and prepare to see his eyes. That's where you see if the fit still lingers - if he's vocally denying the hate that still rushes his blood.

Today his eyes are clear. Blue and bright.

"I love you too," I reply, my words catching in my throat.

I never really got over the fear of losing him. Back in 13 they'd tried desperately to get me to surface from my guilt, but it had only been compacted by Peeta's words while his hands had been wrapped around my throat.

The Capitol had convinced him I'd killed our child.

It had been the end of the fight for me. The quiet way I'd tried to give up and let his hands close out my windpipe. 

But Haymitch had been there, pulled me free and focused on keeping me alive while Peeta got better.

As he stands before me now, his hands resting at his sides, he is better. But there are still shadows. Like last night when we’d laid in bed, tightly grasping to each other. I’d woken up to his arms crushing me close, his eyes wide and blazing. He’d screamed that I’d killed everything he loved.

Only hours earlier, in that same embrace, he had asked if we could try for another baby.

We’d never been able to truly deal with what happened in 75. We’d just moved forward. And that’s why we needed these hours together. That’s why when the dishes are done and the kids are gone, he comes to me and it’s different.

There’s no time wasted going upstairs. We don’t bother with frivolities. It’s skin to skin when he lifts me to the counter, his hands touching everywhere. Clothes aren’t removed; they’re pushed out of the way. In a rush to be closer, he presses in as his lips find mine. We thrust and we ride and it’s fast and hard. When we come together, it’s only each other’s names that escape our mouths in riotous gasps.

In the aftermath, we find our way to our bed. To the scene of the crime.

“I’m sorry, Katniss. For everything last night.” He speaks into my hair as we spread out on the mattress. I put my fingers to his lips and press lightly.

“Don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong.” I know he’ll carry the guilt anyways, but I must still say it. We both need to hear it.

“I think I’ve loved you for a thousand years,” And it’s so quiet, his confession, that I barely hear it as my mind dips further into sleep.

 

 

 

 

I remember the day I discovered I was pregnant.

Not the day on the train. I don’t think about that day.

No, the day where I’d put two and two together on my own. I’d gone to the woman in the village then, who offered services to handle these things. She’d looked at me, really looked, and had asked if this was what I’d wanted.

I’d answered that I wasn’t sure. But I was sure. I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t do it again. What if I failed? What if… Oh, Peeta.

She’d told me to come back the next day – that she had to purchase supplies.

I’d left feeling emptier than when I came in.

Peeta didn’t come home that night. We’d been sharing our lives off and on for the past while, sharing a bed and meals. Sometimes he’d come over, sometimes we’d stay apart. Today he’d stayed away and I didn’t know why. I convinced myself it was because he knew.

I didn’t go back to the woman the next day. I didn’t go for the rest of the week. I stayed in bed, tucking my head into the pillows and trying to suffocate myself in silence. It was warm and comfortable and was almost like a refuge.

When he came back at the end of the week I couldn’t face him. I stayed facing the wall when he opened my bedroom door and stood at its threshold.

“I had an episode. That’s why I didn’t come back.” His words ghost over me and I want to shiver.

“That’s okay.” I forgive, speaking to the wall. I hear his feet shuffle closer to the side of the bed and I curl up tighter into myself. He’ll know for sure if he gets any closer.

“Can I come in?” The words are so quiet and broken that I know I can’t refuse. He needs the comfort of me.

“Yes.” And it’s only a breath but that’s all he needs to lift the sheets and slide his solid body against my shell. His arms wrap around my waist, squeezing in between my knees and stomach to pull me close to him.

“Katniss?”  He knows. Oh God he knows. I feel the panic rising in my chest. What have I done? I feel his nose brushing against my neck as his lips find my pulse. I stop holding my breath in that moment and gasp, my arms flailing as I struggle to sit up.

“Out!” I scream until I’m hoarse, my voice disappearing. I know my hand is on my belly as he departs because he sees it – his eyes focus in and he looks bewildered and terrified and sad all at the same time. It’s too much and I close the door in his face, collapsing like a fool at its side.

“Katniss, it’s okay.” His voice echoes through the door and I can feel his presence on the other side. I don’t say anything in return – I don’t have words. “I promised. Remember? I’m not going anywhere.”

We spend an hour like that, separated by the thick wood door until I can breathe normally again. 

“Let me in Katniss. Please.” I’m standing on my own, just off to the side when he re-enters the room. I feel like the prey in this game of hunting as his eyes find mine and lock on. They flit to my give-away position on my stomach and I hear him huff out a breath. “Real or not real?”

“Real.” I don’t even hesitate in my response. I’m standing far enough away that I can escape if I need to. I don’t know how he’ll react to this – every fit is triggered by something different.

“Do you know what you’re going to do yet?” He doesn’t look at me when he asks, his eyes carefully diverted to my bed. The same place where this had all started.

“No.” I take a step back with my answer. I don’t know why. He sees it and his face falls.

“I’m not going anywhere. If you… If you want to um… Have something arranged. I’ll be there. For you. And uh,” He struggles for words and I see his hands reach out and then snap back to his sides. His eyes are pleading silently with me, begging me with words he dare not speak. “If you want it. We can do it. We can.”

I see him step towards me and I can’t move, my fingers splaying across my abdomen.

“I don’t want to fail,” I whisper my biggest fear out loud, my knees collapsing as he quickly joins me at my side. He doesn’t rush and overwhelm me; instead he chooses to sit an arm’s length away, his hands conveying words that he cannot utter.

“It’s alright to be scared. It’ll be alright. It will.” His fingers find my braid and release its plait. Carefully, methodically, he runs his fingers through my hair. The fear coursing through my veins takes a back seat to the relaxation he provides. This isn’t District 13. He’s not going to strangle me for this.

In another moment, I’m placed once more upon my bed, facing him as he lay next to me.

“I want you, Katniss. Hell or high water – it’s you. Whatever you decide, whatever happens, it’s you. It always has been, it always will be.”

I don’t have a response for him. I don’t have any words at all.

When the silence seems like it’s stretched on too long, he shifts closer and rests his head against my chest. It’s innocent but feels so intimate that my breath jumps. I know he wants this. He always has.

“What if... What if it happens again?” I fight the words past my lips, determined to speak them and alleviate myself.

“Your heart beats so strongly here,” Lifting his head slightly he pulls my hand to my own chest, covering his over mine. His eyes find mine from below, filled with uncertainty and a quiet sadness. “We’re not in an Arena. You’re safe here. We,” And I feel him guide our hands down to my belly, his fingers interlacing with my own. “We’re safe here. It will be alright.”

With his hand over mine, resting on my stomach, I feel his head return to my breast, the weight of him like a warm blanket. I do feel safe, here next to him. Maybe it will be alright, if I dare think it.

 

 

 

 

He isn’t there for the birth. He’s in the next room, restrained by Haymitch who’s tied him down.

Sometimes we still have to do things alone. Face our fears, our demons.

When my mother tells me to push, I feel like my insides are ripping. It’s unreal, the way my body revolts.

At the end, I’m no longer screaming. He’s no longer screaming. Our child is screaming. Born of two tormented souls.

It takes an hour before he’s there, waiting in the doorway with a sad look on his face and his wrists bandaged and bloody from his battle. I can see it in his eyes; he’s free and clear of his fit.

“I love you,” He whispers from his place in the doorframe. We’re alone in this moment, no longer watched. My arms protectively hold our child closer.

“I love you too.” And I mean it because he gave me this. When he joins us at my bedside he doesn’t hesitate before crawling in next to me. His lips find mine, a smile forming against me as his hands ghost over her brow.

“This is real.” He states, his arm pulling me into his side.

“Real.” I agree. And then the tension I’ve been harbouring for months, for years, has past. There’s a smile on my lips, a child in my arms, and breath in my lungs.

The Capitol doesn’t own us. We survived, we lived.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the prompt from lillian_raven over at LJ and available in German here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/381440/chapters/623469


End file.
